


My Little Dragon

by shetookyourbreathaway



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Shameless Smut, Smut, and she deserves happiness, and someone who really loves her, because let's be real we've seen her flirt with multiple women, bisexual Dany, shameless self insert, some reference to homophobia, this is me ignoring everything that's happened, wlw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2020-03-08 14:08:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18896173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shetookyourbreathaway/pseuds/shetookyourbreathaway
Summary: You (the reader) are one of Daenerys's new handmaidens, and you've developed quite the infatuation with your queen (who could blame you?). What you don't know is that your queen has also noticed your affection.





	1. You Think I Can't See?

**Author's Note:**

> So... the show is a mess, but canon is stupid, so we've elected to ignore that.   
> Set while Dany was still in Meereen, you (the reader) have just become one of her handmaidens. One of the later scenes is roughly based off the scene in 4x07 when Daario tries to proposition Daenerys, but in this version it doesn't go nearly as well for him.   
> In this world, Daenerys is explicitly bisexual (because let's be real, we saw her with Doreah, we saw her flirt with Yara... are you telling me she's not at all interested in women?)  
> This chapter gets off to a slow(er) start, but we're just building up the tension... I promise the smut will pick up in the next chapter.   
> This one's for all the wlw out there who love our one true queen, Daenerys Targaryen.   
> This is the first fic I've published, and I don't have a beta, so please be kind!

The first time you saw her, it took your breath away.

You can still remember her sweeping into her queen’s chambers, the quick once over she gave you as the air was knocked clean out of your lungs. Her short stature with its soft curves was practically mouthwatering, but what really got you were her eyes, framed with her long lashes, their violet depths seemed sad, somber, but they burned with such intensity that you had no doubt she was in fact, the mother of dragons everyone claimed she was. Daenerys Targaryen.

“Your grace,” you had intoned, managing to tear your eyes away from her to respectfully incline your head and bend your knees.

 

…

 

That magnetic hold Daenerys had on you had not faded, you muse as you slowly undo her intricate braids, your deft fingers gently easing the strands apart, careful not to hurt her, but also trying to keep yourself from staring too long at her beautiful face reflected back at you in the mirror. She had long discovered that your calloused fingers knew their way around the tapestries of braids she so cared for, and you took no quarrel with being able to run your hands through her hair, often for several hours a day.

She met your eyes then, reflected in the mirror, and you averted yours quickly, embarrassed to be caught staring. Gods only knew what the queen would do upon discovering how hopelessly attracted you were to her. Banish you? Burn you with those dragons of hers? You didn’t care to find out.

“Where did you learn to braid so well?” she simply queried, throwing an amused smile over her shoulder at you.

“Much practice, your grace,” you reply, keeping your eyes on her hair, “both with ship’s knots and the hair of many of the maidens I grew up with,” you couldn’t tell whether she could tell by your slightly guilty grin that you had kissed some of those girls, the long afternoons of braiding their hair simply an excuse for proximity.

“I was also once trained as an artist,” you add, unraveling the last of her braids as you spoke, “that’s the last of them, your grace.”

“Thank you,” she said softly, rid of her braids and wrapped in a robe, looking much more like the young girl she was, soft despite the horrors she had seen. “Fetch a basin of hot water for me? You may need another set of hands, it is quite heavy—”

Her warning is prematurely cut off as you simply scoop up the large stone basin in your arms, and incline you head, “I’ll be quick, your grace,”

It isn’t until you return, and set the basin of steaming water down on the table that you realize she is examining you; you can feel the heat of her eyes sweeping your exposed back and shoulders, the muscles there presented to her by your dress that ties high in the front, but bares most of your back to her curious eyes, your muscles flexing as you place the heavy vessel down.

“You are very strong,” she says finally, “I thought you said you were an artist?” You respond simply with a respectful nod,

“Aye, your grace, I was, until I was kicked out of my home at fourteen. I’ve been rowing spice barrels across Slaver’s Bay since then.”

“It is called The Bay of Dragons now,” she reminds you.

“Apologies, your grace,” you remedy, “I’ve been rowing spices across The Bay of Dragons since then.”

“Hard work” she comments off-handedly, though you can hear a slight tinge of curiosity in her voice as she moves to sit in front of the steaming basin.

“Aye,” you answer her unspoken question, “but I found it preferable to selling my body in other ways.” At this she looks up at you sharply, and you realize this admission may have been too much.

“My apologies, your grace, you didn’t…” you curtsy quickly, and hurry out of her chambers, leaving the rest of her nightly routine to her other handmaidens, your cheeks hot with embarrassment. She hadn’t asked for that kind of information. You are afraid you may have revealed too much.

 

That night you toss and turn in your bed, remembering the sharp look the queen had given you, this woman you serve, you respect, you secretly adore. You can’t help but wonder if this admission will change everything, change the way she looks at you, whether you will be dismissed from her service…

But all too soon the sun rises, and you hurry to dress, putting on your most presentable blue gown, fastening the buckles around it’s high neck and smoothing your hair into a tight bun atop your head before nervously walking to the queen’s chambers.

When you enter, Daenerys is sitting up in bed, a vision as the morning sun hits her mussed white blonde hair and illuminates her pale skin. She is fresh faced, and her thin white nightgown doesn’t leave much to the imagination, your mind running wild with indecent thoughts of pinning her to pillows and kissing her soft pink lips as you curtsy and manage a shaky “good morning, your grace”

She throws off the covers and stretches, the little groan of satisfaction leaving her mouth sending your mind reeling with thoughts of her making that noise underneath your mouth, and it isn’t until she gives you an inquisitive look that you realize you have been staring for a beat too long. Flushing, you hurry to leave the room to retrieve a pot of tea from the kitchens, as two of her other handmaidens enter bearing the queen’s clothing for the day.

When you return bearing a tray with fruit, cups, and a pot of the steaming liquid, you almost drop it. She is only half dressed, her back to you as she laces her britches, her dress still lying on the bed before her, the pale, smooth curve of her back completely exposed to your hungry eyes. You can only see the smallest swell of the side of her breasts from this vantage point, however, you are painfully aware that if you glanced over at the mirror you would be able to see her breasts, bared in the glow of the morning sun.

She turns to you, saying “you can set it on the side table,” and you purposely avert your eyes, not wanting to be caught staring, as unashamed as she is in her nakedness. The self-control hurts, your hands shaking as set the tray down with a clatter and pour her tea with shaking hands.

 

…

 

It isn’t until that evening, as you are once again unraveling Daenerys’s many braids, another handmaiden cleaning the conference table in the corner, that she brings up your conversation from the previous night.

“You said you were trained as an artist?” she asks, picking her glass of wine up from the vanity in front of her and taking a sip.

“Hmm,” you agree, noncommittally, as you try to gently work a knot out of her hair.

“I should have guessed—you are very good with your hands,” you flush and thank her, ducking your head and wondering if she realizes the double meaning behind her words. “But you are no longer?”

“Yes, your grace,” you respond with reluctance, “my training came to an end when my father kicked me out. It was more important just to survive.” You hope this answer will suffice, and she will let the matter drop, but she does not.

“Why did your father kick you out?” she enquires, with a bluntness that only a queen can execute.

“I do not wish to discuss it,” you murmur, avoiding her curious eyes as she studies your reflection in the mirror.

“And why not?” she asks, straightening her spine, her violet eyes blazing, both with curiosity and annoyance at being defied.

“It’s personal,” you all-but-whisper, “and would be inappropriate to discuss, your grace,” Why couldn’t you just think of a lie? But with those beautiful fiery eyes burning into you, you know you could never lie to Daenerys. You were never very good at it, anyways.

“Leave us,” she commands the other handmaiden, and she nods, departing from the room, but shooting you an inquisitive look. Daenerys stands, face to face with you, and though you are taller than her, you feel as if she is towering over you.

“Do you mean to defy me?” she questions, her tone even, and you shake your head, eyes glued firmly to the floor. She reaches two fingers under your chin, tilting your face up until your eyes meet hers, and you stifle a gasp at the contact. “Good. Now, why did your father kick you out?”

“He caught me—” the words leave your mouth unbidden, and you take a small step back, turning your back to the queen and wrapping your arms around yourself, the loss of her fingers on your skin almost making you want to cry. The confession does bring tears to your eyes, “he caught me kissing a neighborhood girl.” Short sentences are all you can manage, “My dress was off. We were kissing. He struck me, told me not to bother coming home that night. Or any night again, or he would have me killed. So I ran.”

You brace yourself for the yelling, the disgust, to be banished from her service, the city… but instead a gentle hand is placed on your shoulder.

“I am so sorry, the loss of the home is a terrible thing.” Daenerys says softly, “I should know. And the girl?”

“I heard she was married off to a man within a month,” you try to reply evenly, but your voice breaks at the end of the sentence.

Her warm hand slips from your shoulder and you mourn its loss, hearing the clink of glasses and the pouring of a liquid behind you. Daenerys returns, holding two glasses of wine, extending one towards you, It is not until you reach for it that you realize you are shaking, almost violently.

“Sit,” she says, not unkindly, gesturing towards her council table.

You settle into a seat at the table opposite her, murmuring “thank you, your grace,” holding your breath as you sip your wine, gazing at her from under your eyelashes, wondering what she will do. What she will say.

After a short silence, she begins to speak softly, abstractly, spinning a tale about the night sky out in the red waste, atop a Dothraki horse, songs in the distance, and you feel the shaking begin to subside. Listening to her beautiful voice recite this seemingly far-off memory almost sadly, you chance a glance at her, her beautiful face practically glowing under the light of the moon and the few candles illuminating the room. It is clear that this is a memory tinged with regret and hardship, yet her eyes burn bright with something—power? Determination? You can’t be sure, but you think she has never been more beautiful to you than in this moment of vulnerability.

It is at that moment that you realize, more than being enchanted by her beauty, you think you might be falling in love with her.

 

…

 

A few days later, as you approach the queen’s chambers to help her prepare for bed, you can hear raised voices from almost all the way down the hall. As you draw closer, you can identify Daario’s and Daenerys’s raised voices. Easing the door open, you can see the two of them, no more than a couple inches from each other’s faces, their shouts dying in their throats as they turn to see who has interrupted them.

“Apologies, your grace,” you want to shrink away from his angry glare, her fiery eyes, both of their postures taught with tension and anger, “I can leave you, if you wish?”

“No,” she commands tensely, and turns back to Daario, “My answer is final. Leave me now, and don’t come back until you have reconsidered where your priorities lie.”

He storms out of the room, boots echoing across the floor, his shoulder clipping yours and making you stagger slightly as he brushes out of the room, leaving you with the queen’s eyes, burning with rage, staring at the doorway through which he departed.

 

You are the last one left in the queen’s quarters, the other handmaiden’s duties done, and Daenerys is still seething from the altercation you witnessed when you entered.

“He thinks he can just come in here and proposition… the _nerve_ of some men! He has no right!” she rambles angrily, violet eyes sparking, as you undo the last of her braids, combing out the final knots, and stepping back, allowing her to rise. You retreat to tend to the fire as she begins to undress, her shoulder still drawn tense; indeed her entire form is tight with anger as she sheds her gown.

You forget, just for a moment, to resist the temptation to look over at her beauty, reflected back at you through the vanity mirror as she removes the last of her clothes. It is then, naked as her name day, that she catches your wide eyes examining her form in the mirror.

“And you!” Daenerys whirls around, and though terrified, a small corner of your mind can’t help but note how mouth-wateringly beautiful she looks in this moment, her perfect breasts heaving with anger, silver hair swept over her shoulder matching the curls between her thighs, the fire in her eyes that of a dragon’s as she regards you. “You think I can’t see you staring at me? Think I’m blind to the way you look at me? That I haven’t seen enough desire in the eyes of men to know it in a woman’s?”

You fumble for words, terrified as she stalks toward you, a dragon seeking out its prey, backing you into a wall, her hands coming up to rest against it on either side of your head.

“You think I can’t see that you want me?”


	2. Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that the silence has been broken... what will happen? You're in for a wild night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... here it is! I've been super excited to see the hits and kudos on this, it's more than I could have ever hoped for.  
> That said, SMUT WARNING-- this chapter is basically pure smut (with a little bit of fluff at the end) so if that's not your thing, don't read it.   
> This is the first time I've published smut, so again... please be kind!

“You think I can’t see that you want me?”

 

And with that, Daenerys crashes her lips into yours with almost bruising insistence; her tongue traces your lips and you willingly open your mouth to her, her tongue immediately dominating yours as she moves one hand from the wall to lightly grip your throat. She kisses you hard and deep and you can feel your knees go weak as you think that you may never experience a kiss as all-consuming as this one ever again.

It is only your need for air that makes her pull back, leaving you gasping, confused, mourning the loss of her lips on yours as she studies your face.

Her lips are swollen from the kiss, her delicious pink nipples heaving as her burning violet eyes scan your face. Her gaze is so intense it almost feels like physical touch.

“Do you want this?” she confirms, and unable to breathe under her intense gaze, you nod eagerly. “Good girl,” and with that she seals her lips to yours again, and time stops.

All that matters is Daenerys’s lips against yours, her demanding tongue stealing your breath away, her hot fingers insistently starting to open the fastenings of your gown.

The thin black fabric pools around your waist, and you press your body against hers, unable to control your need, gasping into her mouth when her hard nipples graze your skin. You can’t help but press your hips into this beautiful woman in front of you, needy and desperate for her touch.

At the surge of your hips, Daenerys pulls back, and you feel the loss of her body heat acutely, your mouth settling into a pout, looking at her breathlessly, scared that you may have pushed things too far.

Instead she cocks an eyebrow, bringing her hand back up to rest lightly on your throat,

“You may not come until your queen has come—" she pauses, dragging her hand down your throat, over your collarbones, before pinching one of your nipples, _hard_ “—twice.”

You nod eagerly, feeling a rush of wetness between your legs at her words, shimmying your hips to discard the rest of your gown.

“Yes, my queen” you readily agree, reaching out to her, and she steps into your arms. Instead of returning your lips to hers, however tempting that might be, you settle your hands on her waist, and begin trailing kisses down the column of her neck, suckling gently and flicking her perfumed skin with your tongue until you find a spot, the pulse point beneath her ear, that makes her gasp, and you latch on, sucking hard. This elicits another light gasp from the silver-haired beauty, and you double your efforts, trailing your tongue along her elegant collarbone before returning to that spot beneath her ear, kissing and sucking until you earn a soft pleasured moan.

You trail kisses down the front of her chest until you reach her breasts, leaving a long, hot, open-mouthed kiss on the beautiful little concavity between them before sucking her right nipple into your mouth; tracing the areola with your tongue around and around again, listening to her stifled whimper before sucking the hard nipple into your mouth in earnest. Her soft whine sending shivers straight to your core as you move to tongue her other nipple, your fingers delicately tracing around the wet nipple you just abandoned.

You can feel Daenerys’s knees begin to tremble, so wrapping your calloused hands around her tiny waist, you pick her smaller frame up and spin her around, pressing her shoulders into the wall before dropping to your knees in front of your queen.

She surveys you from this new vantage point, breathless anticipation with a hint of amusement,

“Well now, you _are_ strong, aren’t you?” she traces her fingers along your jawline, “And beautiful,” she slides her index finger along your lips, and you happily suck on it, teasing it with your tongue as you meet her eyes, “Are you going to be a good girl?” you nod quickly, her finger leaving your lips with a wet pop as you lean in to press a kiss by her hipbone.

“Good,” she says, satisfaction evident in her voice, and throws a leg over your shoulder, exposing her cunt to you. Her silver curls and soft pink outer lips are slicked with wetness, you note with pride, and your mouth waters, fully ready to devour her, but you force yourself to remain collected, instead pressing a kiss to the soft skin on inside of her knee resting on your shoulder. Punctuating your kisses with small nips and sucks, you work your way up her inner thigh, slowly moving closer to where she needs you, and she lets out an impatient whine, weaving her fingers into your hair, trying to force your head where she needs it most.

You relent, dragging your tongue up the remainder of her thigh before using it to tease her outer lips, the heady scent of her overpowering your senses as you gather the first drops of her wetness on your tongue before properly diving in. She gasps as you gently but firmly slide your tongue inside her, quickly followed by a groan of pleasure as you begin circling it slowly, your nose bumping against her clit. Beginning to move your tongue more quickly, thrusting it slightly in and out you look up at her, adoration in your eyes, to see her head thrown back against the wall, her ribs expanding, beautiful breasts rising and falling as she breathes heavily.

Unsure if you’ve ever seen a more erotic sight, your cunt clenches around nothing and you moan softly against her, the vibration of your voice causing her hips to jerk slightly. You can tell Daenerys is getting worked up, and you wrap one arm around the leg she has thrown over your shoulder, your other hand coming up to her cunt, two fingers replacing your tongue as they slide inside her, curling forward slightly to find that magical spot inside her while your mouth wanders upwards, sucking her clit into your mouth, tongue teasing her outer folds before beginning to rhythmically flick over the hardened nub.

When you find that spot inside her, you know it, a loud moan leaving her lips, her hips circling forward, her hand gripping your hair harder. Encouraged, you increase the pressure and speed of your mouth as you all but devour her, twisting your fingers in and out as she clenches around them. Looking up again at her, you’re not sure you’ve seen anything more beautiful than Daenerys beginning to unravel above you, the long column of her throat exposed, her breasts glistening with a light layer of perspiration, topped with hard pink nipples moving up and down with the rhythm of her desperate breaths.

“Gods yes, oh… right there,” she gasps, her nails ghosting your scalp as she grips your hair tighter, pressing her cunt to your mouth, “don’t you dare stop, right… _oh_!”

Daenerys gasps as your tongue quickens it’s rhythm, and you press the pads of your fingers on the magical spot you found, her head tilting back as you feel her cunt pulse around your fingers.

Her release comes with a long, loud, wordless moan, her hips pressing blindly forward, knees quivering. Now you know with certainty that you have never seen anything more divine than the young queen coming undone under your ministrations, quivering with pleasure, her silver hair and the sheen of perspiration on her body practically glowing in the light of the fire. She looks like the evening sun personified, practically burning you with her presence, your stomach fluttering with want. Feeling like you might be kneeling in front of a goddess, you continue to worship her with your mouth as she comes down from her high, feathering light kisses to her clit and the lips of her cunt until her body fully relaxes.

It is only then that you rise from your knees, continuing to feather light kisses up her body, across the gentle curve of her stomach, the undersides of her breasts, ghosting your lips across her shoulders and collarbones before she places her fingers on your cheek, bringing your face to hers for a kiss. You hesitate, not knowing if she will want to taste herself still dripping from your lips, but she crashes her lips into yours, kissing you roughly. Her fingers wander teasingly down your body, fingernails oh-so-lightly dragging over the tensing muscles of your stomach before she slides one delicate finger into your wetness. You whimper, unable to keep your hips from surging forward into her hand, but she pulls her hand away, lips leaving yours to whisper hotly in your ear,

“ _Ah-ah-ah_ , I do believe I said you needed to make me come twice. And a queen always keeps her word, does she not?” You swallow and nod, “you’re going to behave for me now, aren’t you?” You nod even more emphatically, “Good girl,” and she backs you away from the wall, not stopping until the back of your knees hit her bed, and you obediently sit, clambering backwards onto it, breathless with anticipation.

Daenerys slides up onto the bed, crawling towards you, hips swaying, the warm light of the fire contributing even more to the illusion of a dragon stalking towards its prey. She drags her tongue up the midline of your stomach, between your breasts, and your breath catches in the back of your throat, but her ascent does not stop there. Swinging her thigh over your shoulder, she moves to straddle your face, and your hands find the back of her thighs, helping her.

Gently lowering her cunt to your mouth, she looks down at you, her hands coming to rest on the headboard, a question in the quirk of her eyebrow. In answer, you reach up, burying your mouth in her cunt. A low moan leaves her lips as your tongue traces her slick outer lips, your hands sliding up to the rounded curve of her ass, pulling her closer to your face. You lap eagerly at her as her hips begin to stir, taking up a steady rhythm, riding your face much like a horse—or, you suppose, a dragon.

Daenerys is not quiet in her appreciations as you begin to fuck her in earnest with your tongue, occasionally flicking it upwards to circle her clit, before plunging it back inside of her. Her moans begin to increase in frequency and pitch as her hips settle into a steady rhythm against your mouth. Your hands grip the smooth, rounded skin of her beautiful ass, steadying her as you lick her, your cheeks flushing as the wet, obscene, _hot_ noises of you lapping at her cunt fill the room. Grinding her hips against your face, she arches back and slides a single finger into your cunt, and you moan against her, your hips arching off the bed, your rhythm faltering for a second.

“You may not come until your queen comes,” she admonishes you in a stern, if slightly breathless voice, and you redouble your efforts, lapping at her as if you were a dying man who hadn’t drank in days.

“ _Oh_!” she gasps, a clear noise of enjoyment, and as you move to suck her clit, rubbing it with the soft underside of your tongue, she rewards you with her thumb, placed lightly on your clit, as if to mirror your actions. It takes everything you have to focus on her pleasure as you buck helplessly against her hand, your hips already beginning to quiver, anticipation winding tight in your stomach.

Massaging the soft ridges of her cunt with your tongue, you move to flick your tongue against her clit, circling it before building a steady rhythm. The circles of her hips pick up in cadence, a whine leaving her lips as her fingers press into you a little harder. Alternating between sucking at her clit and flicking it hard with your tongue, you whimper in desperation as her hips begin to buck in short, hard forward motions, a high pitched moan leaving her beautiful lips.

“ _Oh_ , right there, yes,” Daenerys pants, the pressure of her fingers in your cunt increasing, and your hips buck upwards, a whine leaving your mouth.

“You may— _oh!_ —you may not come until your queen comes— _gods_ ,” she moans above you, the hard thrusts forward of her hips taking on a desperation, and you know she must be close. With one last, hard suck on her clit, she comes undone above you, her hips stilling their movements to press into your mouth as she lets out a short, wordless scream. Her hips circle frantically and she gasps for air, the sounds punctuated by high-pitched moans as she rides out her orgasm, and as her movements slow, you can feel her fingers begin to move against you, fast and insistent.

Daenerys presses her index finger deep inside of you, her thumb relentless against your clit. You had already been close, wound incredibly tight by the beautiful sight of her coming undone above you, so it takes no time at all to have you whimpering and gasping for air, your head thrown back against the pillows.

“Come for me,” she commands, softly and seductively, “come for your queen,” and that is all it takes, you are undone, all of the air leaving your lungs in a low moan as your whole body seizes up with pleasure.

While you are still coming down from your high, Daenerys clambers down from her position over you to splay on the sheets beside you. The two of you lay there for a moment in silence, and then she giggles breathlessly, the short sound laced with pleasure and sunshine. Your last thought before you drift off to sleep is that she should laugh more often.

 

…

 

When your eyes next open, the sun is shining and there is a warm body beneath your fingers. You survey your situation and realize that you must have shifted overnight—your head is nuzzled into Daenerys’s shoulder, one of your arms wrapped around her shapely waist, while your legs are tangled together, one of your knees thrown over hers. You slowly angle your head upwards, only to meet Daenerys’s bright violet eyes, a trace of a smirk in the slight upward cant of the corners of her mouth.

You gasp, quickly withdrawing your arm from around her and sitting up, worried that you may have crossed a line.

“I’m sorry, your grace, I…” whatever explanation you could have possibly come up with died in your throat as you saw the peaceful smile on her face, still tempered by sleep. She didn’t seem at all upset that you had inadvertently stayed the night.

“It’s quite alright, do not fret my little dragon,” her phrasing makes your breath catch in the back of your throat,

“Your—?”

“Yes,” she replies readily, her violet eyes sweeping over you possessively, “mine.”


	3. Endless Summer Afternoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a couple of days later, and temperatures are running high, both figuratively and literally...  
> (props to those who know what the title is referencing)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! I just finished up all my final exams.  
> So I'm thinking this will have one more chapter to fully wrap it up (not that I would be opposed to revisiting this character/relationship later) and looking forward to future... I'd be open to requests, but I'm thinking either a Daenerys x Margery AU or a fix-it/revenge fantasy involving Dany's rebirth post-season 8? Sound off in the comments, if you will...   
> And again, SMUT WARNING, so if that's not your thing, don't read it! And I don't have a beta reader, but I do have a soft heart, so be kind to my mistakes, and generous with your love!

It is hot as a dragon’s breath, a restless summer afternoon. Sweat dripping down your spine, you methodically clear the conference table in the corner of Daenerys’s chambers as the late afternoon sun beats through the windows. She enters the room, and you catch her movements out of the corner of your eye as she settles onto the chaise and pours herself a glass of wine, observing you while you work. It has been three days since you shared the queen’s bed, and nothing has been said of it—you will not be the first one to broach the conversation, you have long decided, though it is almost painful to be around her every day, knowing how she tastes, how she moans, and not doing anything about it. The hot summer sun and the heat curling low in your belly create an almost unbearable combination, and you want to squirm from discomfort, your fingers itching to reach for her, for yourself, to do _something_. Your dress is damp with perspiration, the space between your thighs sticky with desire. Though you force yourself to stay collected, the tension in your posture must give something away.

“Come here,” Daenerys’s soft voice breaks the silence of the oppressively hot room. Ducking your head, you place the quill and parchment you had just picked up back down on the table, and quickly move to step in front of your queen, a vision of sunlight and fire with her silver hair and fiery violet eyes glinting in the late summer sun, glass of wine still in her hand,

“Well?,” she quirks an eyebrow, holding up her glass of wine, “strip.” With fingers shaking with anticipation, you begin to undo the fastenings down the front of your gown, letting it fall open, undoing your belt as you look up to meet her eyes. The slight smirk flitting across her face doesn’t quite mask the hunger there.  You let your gown slip from your shoulders, a rush of fabric hitting the floor as you stand there, bare before her. There is a barely contained hunger playing across her features, but you force yourself to stand still, desire wrapping itself, quivering, in your chest as her eyes all but devour you. Then, in a slow, deliberate movement, she places her glass of wine down and leans back on the chaise, uncrossing her legs, spreading them slightly, and then meets your eyes, quirking an eyebrow, as if in challenge.

Your poise is broken, and you lunge for her, one hand bracing yourself on the chaise, the other finding the small of her back as you draw her to you, kissing her hard, desperately, hungrily. You can feel the satisfied smirk on her lips before she returns your kiss with a matching hunger, her free hand curling around the back of your head. Her tongue dominates yours easily, and you kiss her desperately, starving for her.

Your hands move to the fastening at the back of her neck that holds her gown on, and you pause, breaking the kiss to look at up at her, breathlessly waiting for her permission. After she nods her assent, you all but rip the gown from her body, pushing it roughly to the floor, and immediately move down her body, laying a trail of open-mouthed kisses down the side of her neck. You pause at the top of her right breast, sucking hard until a small bruise blooms there, marking her perfect pale skin, before eagerly sucking her nipple into your mouth. You flick at it hard with your tongue before grazing it with your teeth, and at this Daenerys lets out a throaty moan.

It’s not enough, you want to feel her.

Trailing your hand up her thigh, you cup her sex greedily in your palm, teasing her outer lips not altogether gently with your fingers as you trail kisses across her chest, hungrily sucking her other nipple into your mouth, bolder with your teeth in your hunger for her than you otherwise might be. The shifting of Daenerys’s hips against your palm and the harsh panting of her breath convince you of her desire, and you gently push two fingers into the queen’s cunt, moaning against the soft skin of her chest as you find her already slick, almost dripping with readiness for you. You bring your thumb up to caress rhythmically back and forth across her clit as your other hand trails up the side of her torso, fingers mapping the flare of her hips, the sweep of her spine, the cinch of her waist, clutching her body as close to you as you can.

All tongue and teeth, your mouth moves back up to her neck leaving small marks and bites in its wake. You bring your hand up to her right breast, pinching the nipple and rolling it between your thumb and forefinger, relishing in her panting moans as you use your own hips to increase the rhythm and force of your other hand against her cunt. You roll your hips to drive your two fingers into Daenerys harder, your thumb now insistent and unrelenting against her clit. Occasionally your own clit makes jolting, tingling contact against the back of your hand, and you whine against her neck as Daenerys’s cries increase in frequency and pitch. She is slick against you, her hips starting to buck uncontrollably.

Just as her moans begin to reach a fever pitch, you withdraw your hands, and she whines, almost looking ready to strike you, until you start to move your tongue. Down, down, circling a nipple before nipping at it gently, tracing the curve of the underside of her breast, the planes of her stomach, dipping playfully into her belly button before you move further down and begin peppering kisses on the tops of her inner thighs. She groans, grabbing your head roughly and bringing it to meet her cunt. You dive in with pleasure, nipping playfully at her outer lips before beginning to lap at her in earnest, alternating between penetrating her with your tongue and using it to rub fervently against her clit.

It doesn’t take long until her moans start to build again, shifting closer and closer to screams as she gasps out her pleasure, pressing your face closer and closer to her cunt. You feel like you might suffocate on her, drown in your own desire— and you can’t imagine a better way to go.

Her legs tighten around your ears, her nails biting into your scalp as she screams her release. You can feel her pulsing around your tongue, thighs quivering, and you could swear you hear a trace of your name mixed into her sounds of pleasure, but you can’t be sure.

It is glorious watching her fall apart above you, her legs eventually falling limply to either side as she works to control her breathing, and you can feel your cunt clench with desire as you observe the small rivulets of perspiration slowly working their way down her perfect chest, her cunt flushed near red with pleasure, the traces of her desire glistening there, wetness dripping from her silver curls as surely as you feel it on your face. Daenerys looks absolutely ravishing and thoroughly ravished.

Almost without thinking, your rise from your knees, driven by a desire to kiss her, and when you meet your lips, she responds to your hunger. Though you meet her lips gently, she immediately opens her mouth, her tongue meeting yours, easily dominating it. She must taste herself on your mouth, but it only seems to encourage her, and you can feel your knees go weak with desire; you are drunk on her full lips and her gentle sighs as she weaves her fingers into your hair.

You are so lost in the kiss that it takes you by complete surprise when she moves her hands to grasp you by your shoulders, shoving you, not entirely gently onto the chaise, dropping to her knees between your splayed legs. There is something unbearably arousing about the queen kneeling between _your_ naked legs, hunger in her eyes.

You inhale, opening your mouth, but before you have time to speak, she dives in, putting her mouth on your cunt, and instead of words, all that comes out of your mouth is a desperate whimper. Her tongue dances across your outer lips and you throw a hand against your mouth, trying to stifle the soft moan that escapes.

“No,” she commands, looking up at you, “I want to _hear_ you. I want to hear you as you fall apart for me.” Your head falls back,

“ _Gods_ ,” you almost feel as if you are praying, because you can’t imagine a more divine feeling than the queen’s mouth between your legs, her tongue hot and demanding against your core. She eats you out like a starving dragon, leaving no fold unexplored before setting a merciless pace against your clit, and you cannot help but let out a long low moan. Though she is the one on her knees in front of you, it feels abundantly clear that she holds all the power here—you are helpless against the assault of her tongue, fast approaching your peak.

Then her mouth stills and she pulls back just far enough so she can look up at you, panting and whimpering, splayed back against the chaise, droplets of sweat running down between your breasts. Breathless from her attentions, you cannot summon up words, but you look at her with pleading eyes. _Why did she stop?_

She presses the lightest of kisses to the inside of your knee before nipping at it, the sudden sting sending a jolt of pleasure to your core, and you whimper again.

“Beg for it,” she commands, and you are helpless but to comply,

“ _Please_ ,”

“Please what?” she says.

“Please, your grace,”

“What would you ask from your queen?” she enquires, her eyes teasing. You break.

“ _Please_ your grace, please let me come, however you please, I’ll do whatever you’d like, please,”

“Anything I desire? Hmm, I’ll remember that one,” but she seems pleased with your answer, and lowers her mouth to your clit, moving to slide two fingers inside of you. You have been wound so tightly that it only takes three flicks of her tongue for you to come undone, screaming her name as pleasure floods your body, your legs shaking violently around her head.  You collapse against the chaise, completely spent, shivers of pleasure still running up and down your spine as perspiration begins to dry on your torso.

Daenerys sidles up next to you on the chaise, sitting and throwing her legs over your own, tracing her fingers in aimless, teasing patterns over your chest as your breathing continues to calm.

“So my little dragon was hungry, hmm?” Her fingernails trailing over your over-sensitized nipple rips a whimper from the back of your throat, and without thinking you move to bury your head in her neck, pressing a breathless kiss to her pulse point.  “I cannot afford to have this many marks left on me,” she comments off-handedly, with only a hint of sternness in her voice, yet as you pull back to examine her torso, you realize, to your horror, just how many marks litter her pale skin.

In your hunger, you had left bruises blooming all along the graceful pale column of her neck, just starting to bloom in their shades of blue and purple, red and green, as well as a good handful of bruises spanning her breasts. Her beautiful pale skin, capped by rosy nipples and shadows of collarbones, had already been a flawless artwork, but you had inadvertently treated her like a canvas, now bruised and marred by evidence of your desperate desire.

“I—I am so, _so_ sorry, your grace, I never—” you stutter, trying to form an adequate apology, interrupted by a turn of her head, her lips pressed lightly to your temple.

“If you were unaware, I was not protesting your attentions,” she reassures you, mirth sparkling in her violet eyes, a light blush coloring the apples of cheeks prettily, “I’ll simply have to mind that dragons may get a little… _ravenous_ when not fed often enough, hmm?”

“Still,” you draw Daenerys’s hand to your mouth, kissing it gently, “it must be a crime to leave so many marks on such a piece of art, never mind harm a queen… surely you must have me arrested?” you manage to sound teasing, covering the niggling guilt you feel in the pit of your stomach with a small wink.

“You make an excellent point,” she replies, drawing her spine to sit up straight, looking every inch the monarch she is, despite her nudity. Grabbing your wrists, she pins your hands against the chaise, above your head. “We must see what we can do about that now, hmm?” and she lowers her lips to your collarbone.


	4. Just Hold Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The two of you have almost settled into a routine, but it's until after a long, brutal day that you learn where you really stand with the dragon queen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, apologies that this took so long to post, I'm the worst.
> 
> No smut here, just really soft, emotional fluff

It almost felt as though you had settled into a routine, you and the dragon queen. It wasn’t something you could ever hope to get used to—the nightly summons, her pale skin, flushed pink, her bruised lips, and petite curves fitting perfectly into your calloused palms, her taste, the sounds of her coming apart underneath you, above you—it was all beyond comprehension. You would often find reason to be the last handmaiden in her chambers at night, or she would summon you to her quarters; late at night, in the lazy heat of midday, following a particularly frustrating counsel with her advisors…

Daenerys was like a fine Dornish wine that you could get drunk off of, day after day, and never get enough. You were addicted to her—to the feel of her soft skin under your fingertips, the sounds that you could manage to coax from the back of her throat. You dreaded the day that Daenerys might decide she is tired of your arrangement—after all, you have no official standing, no title or agreement. She seems to harbor a certain amount of affection for you, often returning the pleasure you bestow upon her, never seeming to mind if you stay and share a glass of wine, or even stay the night; however, your niggling insecurities play at your mind if you think about it for too long—you can’t imagine you have much standing with her beyond a desirable plaything, as much as she enjoys your company. It is often that you catch her eyes on you, but you wouldn’t presume to know what goes on in your queen’s mind, as captivated as you are by the powerful blaze behind her violet irises. And then there is the small matter—no matter how much you hide it, or how inappropriate your affections might be, you are slowly but surely falling in love with the strong, soft, stern, blazing, beautiful enigma that is the Dragon Queen. 

 

…

It had not been a day of good news, of that much you were sure. It was hardly a secret—the smoke and ash of the burning Sept of Meereen could be seen from the pyramid, the yells and whispers alike echoing the streets. The flames had spread from the Sept to old houses nearby and further down the alley to other decrepit structures, consuming almost an entire street before it could be contained.   
It had been arson, of that, most were agreed. No accident could explain the magnitude of the blaze: it was the manifestation of the discontent, the unrest that persisted amongst the former Masters. 

Daenerys had spent all day in counsel meetings, behind closed doors with advisor after advisor, soldiers and noblemen moving through in an unending stream. You stood in the hallway bustling with politicians and rich men, listening to the chaos around you, and trying to catch wind of the occurrences in the council room. Through the heavy wood doors studded with gold bolts, you could hear voices raised in exasperation, fists slammed on mahogany tables, quarrels, Daenerys issuing ringing commands, and then finally, perhaps most ominously, after hours and hours of ceaseless conversations, silence fell. The long stone hallways slowly fell still, but those looming doors remained closed. Finally, after the moon had risen fully into the ashy night sky, you gave up your silent vigil outside the council chamber and decided to retire. 

It feels like mere seconds after your head hits your pillow that you jerk awake again, a light hand placed on your shoulder. It is another handmaiden, her shadow falling across your face,   
“The queen requests your presence in her chambers,” she tells you, and you can’t but wonder if there isn’t a knowing look that flashes briefly across her eyes—after all, you have been requested by Daenerys more frequently of late—before she drops your shoulder and shuffles off to her own bed in the neighboring quarters. Noting the position of the heavy, smoky moon in the night sky, you would guess that is no later than midnight, and with a sympathetic tug at your heart, you can’t help but wonder if the queen had only just now finished her counsel meetings. A merciless, joyless day indeed.   
You take an extra minute to tame your hair, running a comb through your bed-tousled locks and smoothing a hand over your rumpled bedclothes, tugging down the short, thin white nightshift so that it falls to your knees, and then barefoot, pad quietly down the halls. You know this course to the royal chambers well, and it takes you but minutes, trying to rub the sleep out of your eyes as you walk. 

Gently cracking the door, you slip quietly into Daenerys’s chambers, your movements catching her eye as she sits in bed. She looks exhausted, you think sadly. Beautiful, ethereal even, with the thin straps of her nightgown delicately balancing on the perfectly architectural slopes of her shoulders, the hollow of her collarbones shadowed against her pale skin, her silver hair loose around her, still wavy from the day’s braids practically glowing in the moonlight. But you can’t help but notice the hollow shadows under her eyes, so dark they almost look bruised, the slump of her spine, the normally blazing fire behind her eyes now little more than embers.   
Wanting nothing more than to please her, you drop into a shallow curtsy, training your eyes respectfully downwards as you simultaneously tug the ties holding your nightshift up loose, letting the garment drop to the floor, leaving you bare to the queen and the moonlight. Meeting her eyes, you can’t help but note with a little sinking feeling in the bottom of your chest that she isn’t looking at you with the same hunger she normally does.   
No matter, you try to internally shrug it off—this isn’t about your ego or your gratification. You crawl slowly over the side of the bed and towards Daenerys, purposely swaying your hips, your eyes downcast, only glancing up at her occasionally through your lashes; submissive, kittenish, purposely so, knowing the predatory rise it usually draws out of the dragon queen. When you reach her, you bring your lips to her neck, immediately directing your focus at her sweet spot, the sensitive pulse point behind her ear, gently nibbling and sucking at it. 

Instead of the soft gasp, the gentle whimpers you were hoping to elicit, all you can hear is a tired sigh, and you withdraw immediately, eyes stinging, and turn your face away, struggling for composure. There is a heavy sinking feeling in your chest—you had worried the queen would tire of you, but not quite so soon…  
You start as a soft hand is placed gently on your cheek, putting the slightest pressure on it to angle your gaze back to meet the queen’s tired eyes.   
“Your grace—?” You manage, “am I—is something… not to your liking? Can I…?” Your directionless apologetic rambling is cut off as Daenerys buries her head into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply, and you could almost swear you feel the hot dampness of tears against your neck.   
“No,” she protests vehemently, her lips brushing the skin at the base of your neck as she speaks, “no, you’re so beautiful, I just.. this world is so ugly, and I am so tired,” she pulls back to meet your eyes, and you can see the red rimming her stunning violet eyes, the pale tear tracks shining down her slightly flushed cheeks, “so tired.”   
The sinking sting of rejection fading from your chest, you realize how vulnerable Daenerys is being with you in this moment: these moments of weakness—of humanity, really—are things that rulers, especially women, can so rarely afford themselves, lest it be used against them. You bring your hands up to her forearms, lightly caressing the skin there with your thumbs, trying to radiate softness and understanding at her with your eyes.   
“I just… I don’t know,” she admits to you shakily, “I never know if I’m doing right by my people, if someone else could do better… days like today, nothing I do feels right, feels like enough, I—" she leans into you heavily, nuzzling her face back into the crook of your neck, pressing her chest, still clothed in her thin nightgown, against the side of your bare torso. Your heart squeezes painfully—she may be powerful and capable, you never doubt that, but your dragon queen is also still a young girl—sometimes you forget. Of course she grapples with the enormity of her position, and her heart is so big, alight with passion, yes, but also worry. In that moment, wrapping your arms comfortingly around her, you vow to yourself that you will do whatever you can to lighten the heavy load she has to bear.   
Pressed against you, Daenerys practically radiates heat, this vision of beauty in your arms, and you feel like you might be dreaming—having such a beautiful woman pressed up against, you, a beautiful soul trusting you—and as if on cue, you yawn. You had risen before the sun this morning, and the many hours of wakefulness weigh heavily on your eyelids. 

At this, you swear you can feel her lips curl into a smile against your neck and she shifts her body even closer you yours, and then speaks, softly, hesitantly against your neck,  
“Would you…” she begins, and then continues slightly more declaratively, “Stay the night… sleep with me. Truly sleep,” and then so quietly as to be almost inaudible, the words slip from her lips, “just hold me.”  
You would never refuse her anything, especially not this intimacy that you also crave so desperately.

“Of course, your grace,” you murmur, reaching an arm around her waist and pulling her tightly into you, turning so her back is pressed into your front, your arm still firmly around her waist as you mold the rest of your body to the warm curve of back. As you move to place one of your thighs on top of hers, she wiggles backwards, pressing the delicious curve of her ass back against your pelvis in a way that, any other time, would have set your entire body on fire.  
All you do now however, is bury your face into the back of her neck and the silky soft silver hair there, nuzzling the nape of her neck with your nose and inhaling deeply, overwhelmed with warm satisfaction at the sweet, spicy scent of her skin. 

It is in that position in which you hold her, rubbing your hand slowly and soothingly up and down her upper arms as her tight ragged breathing gradually begins to slow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .... and that's a wrap on this!   
> Hopefully I'll be posting something else soon, a Jonerys-centric season 8 fix-it fic, so stay tuned!


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